A New Way to Duet
by Bree.Kiana
Summary: AU. Set in Season 1. Blaine goes to Haverbrook and meets Kurt at Sectionals. Can their budding friendship survive the language barrier? Rated "T" for future chapters
1. Chapter 1

Blaine smiled as he leaned back in his seat in the Buckeye Civic Center. He wrung the program nervously in his hands and looked around for his choir director. With every person who walked by, Blaine's heart sank a bit further. _Didn't he care at all about his students?_

"We are going to win. I just know it," Mr. Rumba declared loudly, his signs far away from his body and extremely punctuated as he plopped into the seat to the left of Blaine. The teacher's face was flushed. Something had clearly aggravated him in between the Jane Addams and Haverbrook set.

'Are you sure about that new song? We have not practiced it much,' Blaine signed after tapping the half-deaf teacher.

"Speak up, Anderson. Remember, Scarlet Fever! And of course I'm sure. You can never go wrong with Journey."

The house lights dimmed, not giving the adequate lighting for Blaine to respond. Instead, he focused on the stage as the scarlet curtain rose, revealing the deaf Glee club.

Blaine Anderson was not deaf. He only went to Haverbrook School for the Deaf, because it was the only school in Ohio that taught sign language. It was the only school that would not put him in a special needs classroom because he required a translator. It was the only school that embraced his genius-level intelligence and thought-provoking ideas. Honestly, it was the only school that accepted him, even if he was somewhat of an outcast.

Blaine Anderson was not deaf. He only pretended to be because he relished in humanity's love for hateful anonymity. He reveled in listening to the hate-filled comments and letting his quick mind piece together snarky comments to render the haters speechless- snarky comments that he could never give voice.

Blaine Anderson was not deaf. Blaine Anderson was born mute. It was a condition that made psychiatrists falsely diagnose him with Autism for so many years.

"Imagine" went beautifully and sent a shiver down Blaine's spine- Greg, the soloist nailed it, even though Blaine was not up there to keep time. The mute teen cringed a bit when the choir began to sing "Don't Stop Believing," they were completely off and it sounded like a bunch of alley cats wailing on garbage cans. Full group numbers were never the best when dealing with deaf singers, but this sounded so much worse than their original set list. Blaine sighed in relief when the final note resonated throughout the hall, wondering for the millionth time why the choir director thought it best to change the set list so suddenly a week before. The deaf choir ended with their rendition of John Mayer's "Waiting for the World to Change," a song that was one of Blaine's personal favorites. He cheered his peers on, knowing that they gave the best performance that they could.

'You did great," Blaine told his friends as they stood in the Lobby after they finished their set. In an hour, the final show choir would perform and then the results would be announced.

'Thank you,' Katie, a pretty redhead and Blaine's best friend, signed. 'I wish you could have been up there with us.'

Blaine smiled. 'Me, too, but I missed too many practices,' he replied with a shrug.

"I can't believe she leaked the set list!" a high-strung, but decidedly male, voice sounded behind the mute boy. Blaine's breath caught in his throat as he glanced upon what surely was an angel sent from heaven. His face looked as smooth as porcelain, and just as pale. Not one lock of his chestnut hair looked out of place. His lips looked as if they were the petals of a delicate pink rose. And his eyes- Blaine shuddered when their eyes locked- those perfect almond-shaped eyes were the color of an exploding star.

"Give Brittany a break, she doesn't know that Sylvester is really an evil witch ripped straight out of the Disney Vault." The angel's companion, a beautiful black girl with curves, tried to placate.

"Mercy, you're being too nice. Coach Sylvester is really Satan in disguise," said the porcelain-skinned angel with a roll of his eyes. "Two bottles of water, por favor," he snapped to the employee at the concession stand.

His companion laughed. "C'mon, boo, let's get back to the others," she said, linking elbows with the boy and walking off.

"Bwaine," Katie voiced with an accompanying tap on the shoulder. 'What is wrong? I have been trying to get your attention,' she finished in ASL.

'Nothing,' Blaine signed back. _But I think I just fell in love with the enemy_, he thought to himself. 'Nothing at all.'


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I know it's short but life got crazy on me. Hopefully after this weekend I can update on a more regular basis. Enjoy!

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><p><em>"And first place goes to the New Directions!"<em>

Those words had been echoing in his head throughout the weekend. Blaine was the one who signed those words to his fellow choir-mates. He was the one who painted disappointment on their faces. 'Next year,' Blaine signed following the announcement. 'Next year we're going to Nationals.' He could tell that they didn't believe him.

His grumbles lost in his throat, Blaine got out of bed and sluggishly ran through his morning routine before grabbing his backpack and new sheet music.

"Good morning, sweetie," Blaine's mother, Michelle, called in a cheerful tone from the kitchen table, where she was sipping coffee next to her husband. Blaine's father, William, was currently hidden behind the morning's newspaper.

Blaine waved her off, still too tired and too depressed to sign, as he poured his own cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal before sitting down at the table with his parents.

Michelle beamed at her younger son. "So tell us how your little competition went," she prodded after Blaine had a few mouthfuls of his breakfast. William snorted from the other end of the table as he took another sip of his black coffee.

'We lost," Blaine signed off-handily before he took another sip of his coffee.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, honey," Michelle said, placing her hand on her son's.

"Of course you lost. Whoever heard of a deaf choir? It's a damn waste of good money if you ask me," William voiced with a turn of the page. "That school should be focusing on turning out working citizens, instead of letting half of you go immediately on Disability."

Michelle squeezed her son's hand and mouthed 'don't worry.'

The corner of Blaine's mouth twitched upward in a smile. He slowly stretched his hand to her neck, his fingers barely resting at the side of her small adam's apple as she hummed a few notes. Mother and son smiled broadly

"Enough of that," William snapped. "You're going to make me late for work."

Blaine nodded before quickly disposing of his dishes in the sink. He grabbed his backpack, mentally berating himself for forgetting to finish the last of his math homework, and waited by the door for his father.

William shot his son the usual disappointed look before walking out the front door. Blaine followed him, head low and eyes downcast. He couldn't wait until he got his own car. He couldn't wait to get his own place.


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine's appointment for his peer tutoring session was a no-show, so he walked down the grand hallways of Haverbrook to the music room. For some reason or another, he found that his concentration was best there. Settling into his usual desk, he neatly arranged his books in front of him and dove into his Latin translations. He was halfway through his first set of problems when he heard Mr. Rumba's raised voice.

"I knew I never should have trusted that cheerleading coach," Mr. Rumba's voice filtered from his office. Blaine knew that he shouldn't stay- that this conversation was not one that should be overheard- but he couldn't leave. Something in the choir director's voice compelled him to stay. He felt as if he was being restrained- immobilized by invisible rope that bound him to his chair. "If it wasn't for that mousy woman, I would have believed that that coach gave us the wrong set list."

Blaine cocked his head in confusion, his math assignment completely forgotten. Wrong set list? What does he mean? Is that why we changed songs so suddenly? Blaine's jaw clenched as his fists trembled by his side. He quietly stood up, the invisible bonds cut free by curiosity and anger, and crept toward the opened door.

"I know it doesn't matter anymore, but all those kids have to look forward to for the rest of the year are nursing home visits, the spring concert, and graduation." In a softer tone, he added, "I just wanted them to have something to be proud of- something that will get them through their miserable life. That bad girls' teacher and I only stole the set list to give our respective clubs the upper hand advantage-"

Blaine couldn't listen anymore, the sudden rush of nausea making him sick to his stomach. He stumbled out of the choir room, his books and bag long forgotten, as he rushed to the boys' lavatory so that he could purge himself of the bile that quickly rose in his throat.

A hand gently pressed into his back, rubbing smoothing circles across his shoulder blades. Blaine's nerves calmed under the friendly touch. When he felt that there was nothing left in his stomach, he let out a shaky breath and rocked back on the balls of his feet. His soother flushed the commode while Blaine steadied his breathing.

'Thank you,' he signed, not even looking up.

His savior chuckled, a familiar deep and rich rumble.

Blaine looked into the eyes of Greg, one of the regular soloists, and grinned. 'Thank you,' he repeated.

'Are you okay?' Greg asked. 'Do you need to go to the nurse?'

'No, I'm fine. We need to have an emergency meeting. Today, after school. Meet on the stage. Tell everyone.'

Greg hesitated. Protocol demanded that only a senior could call emergency meetings, and Blaine was only a sophomore- an ostracized sophomore at that. Like most private schools, Haverbrook prided itself on its deep-rooted traditions, and an upset in the norm would only be tolerated if it was something serious. Most of the choir members had other afterschool activities on Mondays, and this would disturb. Still, the look in Blaine's eye told Greg everything- that this was a true emergency and would not be a waste of the club's time. The senior soloist nodded his head. 'Okay, I will tell everyone.'

'Thank you,' Blaine signed. 'Thank you so much. I owe you. Thank you.'

Greg nodded once more before turning and walking out of the door.

The choir members were angry when it was revealed that Blaine was the driving force behind arranging the impromptu meeting. They were furious when he had finished stating why he called the meeting. The entire choir erupted in discord. If you've never witnessed a large group of deafs and deaf-mutes, be very thankful for it is truly a terrifying and over-stimulating experience to see.

'We need to do something!' Hailey, a junior, shouted through her signs, while there were simultaneous shouts of 'we could have one with the original set list,' 'why would Mr. Dalton do this to us?' and multiple death threats. Greg and Blaine barely reined them in by stomping heavily on the wooden stage, the vibrations causing the kinetic-sensitive students to fall silent.

'Yelling and screaming isn't going to help. We need to make a plan and follow through with it,' Greg signed rapidly. 'I'm sure I know the plan we will go with, but I will list the three options. One, we do nothing.' This was met with grumbles and explicit signs. 'Two, we tell Headmaster Finnick and let him solely deal with Mr. Rumba; or three, we apologize to New Directions by offering our services.'

Caleb, a freshman, was the first to speak. 'What can we give New Directions? They are privileged and surely do not want to even speak to us.'

'Whatever we can,' Katie signed. "Costumes, tech-work, choreography, tutoring. Maybe basic ASL lessons? We can even hold a fundraiser for when they go to regionals. I think anything will help.'

Greg nodded. 'I think that's a great idea, but I also think that Headmaster Finnick should know about what happened. I will personally draft a letter to him.'

'And I will write a letter to the New Directions director,' Blaine signed. 'I feel as if it is somewhat my fault the set list got changed last minute.'

Nods of agreement came from the sea of red blazers.

'We should disband as a show choir. From now on, we will only perform for school events and community service,' John, another junior signed.

After the motions passed, the choir members headed off in different directions. Blaine and Greg held back to speak personally to the headmaster.

'That was very brave.' Greg signed after the meeting with Headmaster Finnick.

'It was the least I could do,' Blaine replied. 'I will send you a copy of the letter before I e-mail it to New Directions.'

Greg nodded. 'I look forward to reading it.'

When Blaine finally got home (his mother was late picking him up), he immediately locked himself in his room and began to draft his letter to the other choir group. He finished the last line when his mother called him down to dinner and quickly sent the draft to Greg. His heart felt much lighter than it did four hours previously, but his gut still churned with unresolved guilt.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear New Directions,_

_Hello, my name is Blaine Anderson and I am a member of Haverbrook's choir. On behalf of the entire choir, we formally congratulate you on your win at Sectionals this past weekend. The New Directions were the clear victors, even without the knowledge of the conspiracy that surrounded your director's personal disqualification and your club's set list leak._

_Had we, the choir, known about Mr. Rumba's ignoble appropriation of your set list, we would have never performed Journey's classic hit, "Don't Stop Believing." Headmaster Finnick has been informed and an investigation is currently underway for Mr. Rumba, who has stepped down as choir director._

_We pride ourselves in our honesty and commitment in everything we do. That is why, as a choir, we have unanimously decided to selfishly devote our talent towards our parents, school, and community. We would like to extend more than just a formal apology. During our impromptu Monday meeting, we decided to make a monetary contribution as well as lend our services to your club in any capacity you deem fit for the remainder of the competition year. Among our members, you will find: seamstresses, makeup artists, carpenters, electricians, junior accountants, choreographers/ dancers, and interior/exterior decorators. Those of us who have adequate vocal skills would like to extend ASL lessons to you and your choir members._

_Finally, I would like to offer my services as a guest accompanist when yours is unavailable to rehearse or perform. Before you reject this offer, please note that I am not deaf in any form or fashion. I attend Haverbrook because I am mute. The Ohio Board of Education would place me in a special needs program for the mentally disabled should I attend public school. As for my credentials, I have been taking piano lessons for the past eleven years under the tutelage of several acclaimed concert pianists. I have also performed for disadvantaged community members and senators alike._

_Please allow us to repay you and your club for Mr. Rumba's distasteful act in the only way we know how- through kindness and service. We look forward to hearing back from you._

_Sincerely,  
><em>_Blaine Nathaniel Anderson,  
><em>_Interim Choir Director for Haverbrook School for the Deaf_

Mr. Schuester sat back after re-reading his latest e-mail for the twentieth time. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before printing the e-mail off and bringing his materials to the choir room.

Kurt hated Tuesdays- his classes were boring, he didn't have lunch with Mercedes or any of the Glee kids, and the Stickheads decided to make it their mission to torture him during class changes. The only thing good about Tuesdays for Kurt was Glee practice afterschool. There, he could sing to his heart's content (stuck in the background, but at least he was singing!) and ogle one Finn Hudson from across the choir room. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps that threw him into his locker. Laughter and a few heated words followed quickly as the echoing footsteps ebbed in the nearly empty hallway.

"Kurt Elizabeth, you're a dumbass," he chastised himself as he quickly fixed his hair. "You know better than to completely face your locker. They get you every time."

"Hey, Boo, you okay?" Mercedes asked behind him.

"Yes. Fine," he said with a bright smile as he linked elbows with his fellow diva. "At least it wasn't a slushie."

"You're awfully bright and optimistic today," she commented warily as they walked through the choir room door.

Kurt's eyes immediately landed on Finn's large form. "You know what they say: _smile and the world smiles with you."_

Mercedes gave him a look that clearly stated she thought he was two steps away from boarding the short bus. "Whatever you say, Boo," she iterated as they took their normal seats.

Mr. Schuester walked in just as the duo got comfortable. "Alright, guys, I just received this e-mail," he addressed the choir, showing them the piece of paper in his hand.

"I don't understand," Brittany voiced. "If it's an e-mail, shouldn't it be on the computer."

Mr. Schuester ignored her and continued speaking. "I'm going to read it to you. I want you all to listen to it completely before you speak," the last sentence was directed more to Rachel than anyone else. "_Dear New Directions…_"

The club refrained from interrupting their director, although Rachel, Mercedes, and Santana found it hard to bite their tongues. When Schuester finished reading the e-mail, the choir room exploded, the three divas leading the charge.

"Mr. Schuester-"

"It's obviously a trap-"

"It's payback for our win-"

"You cannot be serious about this!"

"Isn't there some kind of rule against this-"

"Hey! Shut up!" Puck yelled, effectively causing the room to fall silent. "I say we give them a shot."

"You just want to laugh at them," Kurt chimed in as he rechecked his phone for messages. "And I'm sure that doing the rough and tumble with a deaf girl is on your 'to-do' list," he added with a roll of his eyes.

"Can't help that I'm a stud and every chick digs the Puckzilla," he replied.

"Alright, Alright. How about we list the pros and cons for allowing them to come here, and then put it to a vote?" Schuester negotiated.

The pros and cons ended up being equal in number, resulting in a 50/50 split of the votes.

"Let's table this for now and I'll call Haverbrook's headmaster to see what all can be done. Now, for this week's assignment, I want you all to find songs that have really pushed the status quo and have changed how we listen to music. I look forward to hearing your song choices."

Mercedes linked elbows with Kurt as they made their way out of the room. "Well, that was a bit crazy."

"_Crazy_ is an understatement- that was an all-out brawl."

"What did you think of it? Could they really help us get the upper edge for Regionals?"

"'Cedes, they're a deaf choir from a cushiony private school- I bet a dung beetle can help us more than they can."

"They're good, though. You heard them sing "Imagine" when they came here."

Kurt rolled his eyes and climbed into his Navigator. "They only got good once you joined them. Now, am I taking you home or are you coming to my house to do homework?"

Mercedes gave him a once-over. "I need to help my mom out at the house. We're finally going to clean out Marcus's room."

Kurt nodded before starting the engine. "Call me if you need help redecorating it."

"I will, Boo."

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><p><strong>Sorry it's so late! Life <em>really <em>got in the way. Hopefully I can get on a more regular schedule now that my life is finally settling down.**


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